


Five Times P. T. Barnum Took One for the Team, and One Time He Didn't Have To

by crown-of-the-circus-king (gay_jeans)



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Feels, Hidden Injuries, Hurt/Comfort, JUST, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, P. T. Barnum Needs a Hug, P. T. Barnum Whump, The Jacket, Vulnerability, ahh i finally cleared all the tags up, gahh the ringleader jacket, i'm gonna stop tagging now, phillip and charity and lettie and anne are ready to FITE, phin is my cinnamon roll child and anyone who disagrees can leave my circus, protective barnum, quality starts out kinda meh but i feel like it gets better? so., tw for sexual assault in ch. one but it's really quick and not graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-03-15 05:06:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13606176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gay_jeans/pseuds/crown-of-the-circus-king
Summary: Five times P. T. Barnum took one for the team, and one time he didn't have to.In which, Barnum doesn't know how much his circus loves him.





	1. Protesters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheresaM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheresaM/gifts).



> Oh look
> 
> Another whump fic
> 
> What have I done
> 
> WARNING: this is the chapter with sexual assault, but it's quick and not graphic. But if you want to just skip over it, that's totally fine! It won't affect the other chapters whether or not you've read it.
> 
> There's also a tad bit of homophobia/homophobic language in this, but I only use the word "queer" in an ugly way. I can't bring myself to use other terms :(

“Sounds like they’re at it again,” came Anne’s dejected voice. No one bothered to ask what she was talking about. They all heard the muffled ranting coming from outside the doors.  
  
W. D. huffed, stepping closer to his sister. They shared a knowing look, and went about their business.  
  
A frown tugged at Barnum’s lips. He hung his red coat on the hanger. They’d just finished their last show for the night, and already their spirits were sinking. Not if he could help it.  
  
“You know what, how about you all come back to the house with me tonight?” Several heads looked up in surprise. “I know I’ve never had most of you over, and the girls would be absolutely thrilled to see their favorite people.”  
  
There were a few seconds of quiet. Charles was the first to speak up. “Throw a few rounds of poker in, and I’m down.”  
  
Lettie chuckled and fanned herself with a hand-held fan. “It’s not like I’ve got better things to do. Is alcohol going to be involved in any way?”  
  
Few by few, they happily accepted Barnum’s proposition to accompany him home for a few hours. He was throwing his coat on when he realized the protesters were still causing a disturbance outside.  
  
“Give me a moment and I’ll see if I can settle them down,” he said.  
  
Phillip cast a worried look in his direction. “I can come with.”  
  
Barnum waved him off. It was best to handle this alone. “Nonsense, I’ll be back in a jiffy.”  
  
A wave of cold hit him hard when he opened the door, he tucked his chin in and slammed the door behind him. The eyes of four dirty, ragged men holding torches fell on him with disgust seething in their eyes.  
  
“About time we got one out here,” one growled, spitting at Barnum’s feet. Maybe his name was Joe. He looked like a Joe.  
  
He kept his expression neutral. “Gentlemen, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave the premises. We’re done for tonight.”  
  
Another one with a crooked nose sneered. He’d call that one Crook. “‘Gentlemen?’ He don’t know nothing about us, then, fellas.”  
  
“‘Ey, Bert,” a third said, jabbing the fourth in the ribs. “Don’t you think he looks kinda pretty?”  
  
He wrinkled his nose. “You’ve always been on the queer side, Ernie. Have at him, but I sure as hell ain’t joining.”

In an instant he was shoved against the alley wall by two pairs of strong hands. A hand grabbed his crotch. Barnum's blood turned to ice. This wasn't real. It was a nightmare. It had to be. But the sudden realization of what would've happened if Phillip had accompanied him hit him. Phillip, who was younger. Who had more of an innocent, 'pretty boy' look. Who was shorter and more slender than him. Through the present terror, he was relieved he'd come alone.

Ernie feigned a look of shock. "I'm sorry, does this make you uncomfortable?" His breath was hot and smelled like rum. "Can't imagine how that must feel on the opposite end, someone making you uncomfortable."

Ernie's grip tightened. Barnum made a quiet choking sound. He pulled against the arms holding him in place. "They're not hurting anyone! Just leave us alone and we can all go our own separate ways."

A fist crashed against his jaw. There was an audible _crack_ as his head snapped against the brick. Waves of pain rolled down through his neck and even into his shoulders.

"They're _unnatural freaks_ ," the voice next to his ear hissed. It was Crook. His tongue grazed across Barnum's jawline.

What happened next seemed to not be in Barnum's control. It was impulse. A gut reaction. He reared his head back and threw it into Crook's nose, sending him back. But the action left his head spinning and aching. A well aimed front kick to his side was all it took to send him crashing down. Not a second too soon, he curled into a ball and covered his head and face with his arms before his body was pelted with kicks and stomps. His coat managed to serve a small amount of protection, but he knew he'd have rather large bruises the next day. Thankfully, all of the strikes were aimed to body that was covered in clothing. Good; he didn't want anyone to worry.

After what seemed like an eternity (when really, it was only a matter of seconds), the assault subsided as a voice grumbled. "Let's leave him be now. Don't want to attract any attention."

Barnum waited until their voices and laughter faded to uncurl himself. Maybe it was caution, maybe it was pain that wanted him to procrastinate. Whatever it was, it did nothing to subside the ache beginning to spread deep inside all of his muscles. Bare palms pressed to the light coat of frost on the ground, he pushed himself to his feet with a low groan. He limped to the doors, glancing up and down the street to make sure it was free of troublemakers. He was shaking. The suspense of the situation was one of the most fear-filled, intense moments of his life. He was pretty sure that was his heart pounding in his ears. Or maybe that was the concussion. He took slow breaths in an attempt to steady them. Hand on the door, he waited for his hands to quit shaking, or at least slow their trembling, before pushing the door open.

Charles had just made a joke. Laughter filled the walls. Barnum winced.

Smiles from ear to ear, shoulders shaking in laughter, they were happy. W. D. hugged Anne. Lettie and Phillip's arms were over each other's shoulders. Who was he to take that away from them? He waved them on with a smile that took too much effort. "Finally got them to leave! Let's be on our way."

The group bounded over, eager to see Charity and the girls again. On the streets, Phillip lagged behind to walk with Barnum. He was still smiling, burdens in the wind. "How'd you manage to make them leave?" he asked, clapping Barnum on the back. It jarred his head and abused his already-forming bruises.

He held back a cry and forced a smirk. "Don't tell me you're doubtful of my powers of persuasion, now. What matters is they're gone, right?"

Phillip gave a short laugh. "I guess you're right. Thanks for looking out for us, old man."

Anne joined them with a smile as Phillip wrapped an arm around her. "Couldn't ask for a better guardian." Her voice sounded sincere.

'Guardian.' Barnum liked the sound of that.


	2. Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barnum performs while sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ONCE AGAIN THIS IS REALLY FRIGGING SHORT I APOLOGIZE BUT HERE YOU GO

_Breathe in, breathe out._ Instead, he wheezed. _Come on, you can do better than that._ Trying again, he took a lungful of air, and exhaled slowly and deliberately. That was better. He’d give himself a once-over in the mirror in his office before he went to join the guys downstairs, but he knew he looked like crap. There wasn’t really anything he could do about that until the fever passed.  
  
A hand banged on the door. He winced. “Hey, Barnum, show’s starting in five. You coming?” It was Lettie.  
  
He rubbed his temples and sighed under his breath. “Yeah, give me a second. I’ll be there.” A wave of chills swept through his body. The extra undershirt he’d thrown on earlier did not serve the purpose he intended, and therefore was useless. Swiping a hand across the nape of his neck, he realized he was sweating even though goosebumps had splattered across his entire body. The sweat wasn’t profuse, though, but enough to put an end to any doubt he could’ve had. Yeah, he was sick.  


* * *

  
  
Anne was the first person he ran into. Quite literally, actually. The lights were just so bright, he thought he’d only closed his eyes for a second on his way backstage. Then he shoulder checked a smaller, more delicate figure.  
  
His immediate response was a thousand apologies and a frantic “Are you alright?”  
  
Anne laughed until she realized his words were slurred and his eyes were droopy. “You don’t look so good. Are you feeling okay?“  
  
He nodded, bringing an elbow to his face to cough. “Excuse me. Yes, I’m quite alright. We should be off to take our places,” he suggested in an attempt to change the topic. This show had brought in a large crowd, which meant a lot of money bought a lot of tickets. They couldn’t afford to cancel tonight. Phillip was out of town for the weekend looking into travel expenses for the next tour, so there wasn’t anyone else he could pass the torch to for the time being.  
  
With everyone in their proper place behind the curtains, the lights faded. Barnum found that it complimented his raging headache quite nicely. It didn’t last too long though, the audience buzzed with hushed whispers, and then the curtains opened.  
  
Harsh, blinding lights that sent stabbing pains through his head overwhelmed his vision. The blaring music felt as if stakes were being driven through his ears. But he did what he did best, and pushed it all down to perform. He could practically close his eyes and complete the choreography without a fault or bumping into anyone, so that’s what he did most of the song. It did nothing for his headache, but he wasn’t as overwhelmed. His movements were sluggish but at least they were correct.  As for his singing, he was amazed his voice lasted so long. Of course, the rest of his people singing with him did help drown out however scratchy and painful his voice sounded.  
  
The finale couldn’t come soon enough. He threw his trembling arms up as the rest of the troupe posed around him. The audience exploded in applause and hollers, which also resulted in his _head_ exploding. He swayed on his feet with tears flooding in his eyes. Then the lights finally shut off, leaving them in darkness. It was okay. He could put his facade away.  
  
In a wave of dizziness, he threw a hand out to steady himself. It just so happened to land on Lettie’s shoulder. “Ah, sorry, Lettie.” His own words vibrated throughout his skull. He winced and pulled away. He was hardly aware of his feet pulling him out of the ring, away from Lettie’s questions of concern, to his office.  
  
The room was dark and quiet. When he slumped into the corner, curling into himself, he welcomed the darkness that pulled at his mind.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'll try to have the next one up soon. 
> 
> Also, thanks to you lovely people who have given me such lovely feedback. Love you! <3


	3. Broken Ribs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a carriage accident in the middle of nowhere, P. T. is the one who volunteers to seek help, however far away it may be. The only thing is he's injured, too. 
> 
> Contains Carwheeler and minor Phillip and Anne whump.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look. I know cars came a little bit after this time period, but I'm throwing them in there for the sake of plot. Also there's most likely medical inaccuracy down below so read at your own peril. I know this one isn't the longest either, but it's an ass-ton longer than the previous one, so I hope this makes everyone happy :D

It was a late Friday afternoon. It was cold and judging by the darkening sky, it was sure to rain soon. People’s footsteps hastened to get home under dry roofing. Children played on sidewalks, chins tilted up as if to say, ‘Come on then, let’s have some rain already!’

As for Barnum, he loved the rain. Specifically the smell that came with it. Petrichor. Of course, he never really liked the mud and careful steps to avoid puddles that he had to deal with afterwards, but he tried to live in the moment. There was nothing as pure as standing in the midst of a rain shower, cool water pouring off your face in endless bliss.

A light kick to his shin shook Barnum from his thoughts. The rain was no longer running down his face, it was running down the carriage window. Phillip was sitting across from him, Anne next to Phillip. “I said, when do you think we’ll get there?”

They’d only left half an hour ago and weren’t even out of town yet, so he didn’t know how Phillip would handle the answer of a few hours. Train seemed like a more reasonable method of transportation for a longer journey, but it was a last minute decision to travel a few cities over in search of more recruits for the circus. The plan was to scout the area out and do a little campaigning, decide if it would be safe for the rest of the circus troupe to come along to perform a show, and hopefully inspire some lost souls with their message. He just shrugged, a small smirk playing at his lips. “We’ll get there when we get there, Carlyle.”

Slowly but surely, the city began to fade over the course of the next hour and a half. Pavement turned into dirt roads, modern buildings transitioned to small stores and simple houses. The horse pulled their carriage along a particularly secluded, windy dirt road.

Anne admired the view of the thick woods out the window while holding a circular pillow against her chest, smiling softly. “I’ve always loved the country. Away from everything loud.”

Phillip shuffled in his seat. “I feel a bit uneasy being this far out from civilization,” he added hesitantly. “Who knows what could happen out here, and how far away you are from help?” The vehicle jostled through a pothole, earning a wince from Phillip.

Barnum couldn’t help but chuckle at his friend. “I’ll have to agree with Anne, Phil.” Anne beamed. “Gotta love the scenery. Maybe it was just how I grew up, though. I learned to appreciate my surroundings.”

No one spoke for a little while. Within the following minutes, Phillip’s face had taken on a ghastly pallor. “‘M feeling a lil’ nauseous,” he mumbled through clenched teeth. One of the wheels hit a bump and he lurched forward, taking slow, deep breaths.

“Aww,” Anne cooed in pity, although a smile had spread across her face. She grasped his hand. “Wanna hear a joke W. D. told me? What's the best thing about Switzerland? I don't know, but—“

It took a split second. Barnum had no clue what had happened, but one minute everything was upright, and the next there was a horribly loud crashing sound along with everything in his vision being thrown around. He had time to register Anne falling down towards him and allowed his body to brace in order to cushion her fall. What he didn’t anticipate was Phillip swinging his body in between theirs, catching Anne’s in the process, and then crashing against his frame.

Anne cried out.

Phillip groaned. “Anne? You okay? God, I’m sorry P. T. I didn’t mean to fall on you.” He carefully maneuvered himself and Anne off of the ringleader’s body and onto the space beside him.

Anne gasped. “My ankle, I think it’s broken.”

Barnum didn’t try to move, he could already tell something was wrong, but he craned his neck to get a look at the younger girl’s foot. As far as he could tell, it had been sandwiched between her and Phillip in the fall. Judging by the unnatural angle it was twisted at, he concluded that it very well was broken.

He wondered, if he just lay there pretending to not exist, how long he could procrastinate finding out if he was injured. It wasn’t really something he wanted to deal with. But he went with his better judgement and twisted his neck to find Phillip’s face. “Phillip, are you hurt?”

In answer, he gagged. His face was scrunched up in a grimace, looking at Anne’s ankle. “Gonna be sick. Might’ve hurt my knee a little. Nothin’ much. You?”

In truth, he was afraid his ribs might be cracked. Bruised at the very least. He surveyed the damage in a deep breath. His lungs expanded against his ribs and a hot pain blossomed in the right half. His breath caught in his throat but he swallowed it down and answered as calmly as he could. “Bit banged up, but I’m good. Is the driver alright?”

Phillip was on his feet, hunched over in the low carriage. The door wasn’t jammed against anything, so it was easily opened when Phillip shoved it. The setting sun filled the room. It was getting late. He carefully swung a leg through the door, hopping through and then disappeared from view.

“Excuse me? Are you alright? Where are—oh. Ah, that looks bad. P. T., he’s unconscious with a head injury. Doesn’t look good.” There was a beat of silence, then a groan. “The wheel’s busted. We’re on our own.”

Well. That’s exactly what everyone wants to hear when they’re stranded on a dirt road with nightfall approaching.

Anne pushed herself into a sitting position with her bad leg stretched out. “What are we going to do?” The concern was evident in her voice.

Phillip was silent. Barnum tried to formulate a plan. “Phil, how’s the horse?”

“I don’t know, I’m not a horse person. She looks fine, though. Mr. Fletchly isn’t showing signs of waking up anytime soon. He needs to get to a hospital.”

That settled it. Wincing, he maneuvered his body to a standing position with as little movement as possible while trying to ignore the stabbing pain in his ribs.

Anne looked at him. “Woah, where are you going?”

“I’m going to ride to the last house we saw and get some help. It’s only forty five, fifty minutes back. Thirty if I’m going fast.”

“Aren’t you hurt, too?”

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about me. Just a few bruises. You two, on the other hand, are in no shape to be horseback riding. It won’t take me long. You keep that foot elevated, okay?” He looked around and found the pillow, then positioned it by her foot. “Do you think you can raise your leg up a bit for me?”

She nodded, brow furrowed in concentration, slowly raising the broken limb long enough for Barnum to place the pillow beneath it. “You’ll be alright?”

Barnum smiled at her well-intended insistence. “Absolutely.”

 

* * *

 

The horse was a beautiful chestnut color with a dark, flowing mane. A black saddle with silver stirrups adorned her muscular back. Barnum let out a whistle. “They look even more beautiful up close, don’t they?”

Phillip guided the reins to Barnum’s hands. “No pressure, but…night’s coming. Quickly. Who knows what type of unsavory characters patrol these woods. Or animals, for that matter.”

Barnum hiked his foot up into the stirrup and mounted the horse. He ignored the discomfort it immediately invoked. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back as quick as I can with help. Just keep an eye on Anne, okay? I think she’s a bit shaken up. She’s a strong and unbelievably brave woman, though, she’ll get through.”

Phillip nodded, a blush turning his cheeks pink. “Yeah. I know she is.”

Barnum winked, then guided the mare around. He thrust his heels into her sides. “Hiyah!”

That was a mistake.

Pain exploded in his ribcage as the horse rocketed forward, bouncing relentlessly. It was hard to contain a shriek. He couldn’t bring himself move; he was sure that would make it worse. Against his better judgement, he grabbed the horn and pulled himself into a forward position in an attempt to relieve the pain. For longer than he cared to keep track of, he rode with his chest inches from the horse’s back, hands gripping the reins so tight that they might have fallen off.

Feeling his ribs bow over a stretch of time was the equivalent of watching a crack spread throughout a glass. It was coming, he knew it—he couldn’t stop it—and all he could do was anticipate what came next. He didn’t hear one of the ribs finally crack. But it was explosion that tore a scream from his throat. The horse continued to jolt him around. The broken edges of the bone grated together in an endless circle of agony. He didn’t remember losing consciousness, but he knew that it was a welcomed mercy.

Barnum wasn’t sure what woke him up—it was either the sickeningly thick stench of rain beating his senses or falling off the horse. It caused another rib to snap. He gasped. His vision blurred with tears. He watched helplessly as his horse raced off without him, eventually out of sight. Then the rain started. It wasn’t normal rain, though. Not the kind he loved. Each drop felt like ice shooting through his body. It didn’t take long for the freezing rain to intensify.

Somehow he made it to his feet and started walking. His jacket helped keep him somewhat dry and comfortable for a while, but it too eventually became soaked. His walk slowly turned to more of a forced, shivering shuffle. He wasn’t sure how long he walked. It felt like eternity. The moon has finally risen and was the only light he had. Roughly estimated, it was around eight.

Light from a house peeked out from the trees up ahead. At that moment, he wanted to collapse and cry in relief. But that would kind of defeat the purpose if he didn’t actually make it to the house.

He pounded on the oak door, leaning against the frame for support. It shortly opened to reveal a tall and toned woman, looking to be between thirty and forty. Her blond hair was pulled back in a low ponytail. It complimented her tanned skin. She held eye contact and radiated audacity.

“Can I help you, sir?”

“Yes,” he stuttered, breathing heavily. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in a large quilt and sleep the rest of the day off. “C-carriage accident, d-down the road. Three others.”

“Mercy,” she opened the door wider, beckoning him in. He happily complied. “Are you hurt?”

He waved her off. “‘M fine. They need medical at-ttention.”

She looked skeptical, but at last relented. “My name is Liza Smith. Lucky for you, mister….” she trailed off.

“Just P. T.”

“Lucky for you, P. T, I’m a doctor.”

Barnum didn’t have the energy to feel surprised. Not that he was against women in major professions in any way, but that certainly didn’t mean society wasn't.

She briefly ducked into another room and came back out with a case and a bundle of different materials. She pointed to his chest. “Strip.”

It was too tiring to argue or question her, so he shrugged his soaked coat off, then almost took his shirt off before realizing that he should turn away. He was glad he did when he saw the massive bruising covering his abdomen. She’d take too long fussing over him.

A shirt hit his shoulder. He caught it and tugged it on.

“My brother keeps some clothes here. He stays on the weekends sometimes. And you don’t have to worry about me looking at you in the wrong way, P. T. But it’s fine if you want to stay turned.” Once he was covered, she came into view and handed him another article from the bundle. It was a cotton coat. She clothed herself with the last coat in her arms and opened the door. “Come on, let's go find your friends.”

He nearly sighed in ecstasy when the warm, dry material hit his freezing skin. But he had no trouble leaving the house and entering the rain again. It was the thought of Phillip and Anne out there, alone, in the dark and freezing rain that spurred him.

“My horse is gone, we’ll have t-to walk.” The volume of the rain required him to speak loudly.

“I have a car.”

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t warm. It was noisy. The seats weren’t that comfortable. Still, it beat walking or bouncing around on a massive animal in his current state. His ribs still radiated pain, but at least they weren’t grating against each other or stabbing into anything inside. Rain beat against the windows. Sleep hit him like a train five minutes into the trip.

The car rolling to a stop woke him. It was parked on the side of a dirt road surrounded by woods. The headlights shone onto a wrecked and broken carriage. For a second he wasn’t sure where he was. Then he remembered leaving Phillip and Anne in the dark and pouring rain. “Phil….Anne,” he slurred and reached for the door handle.

Liza hushed him, grabbing her bag from the backseat. “Stay here.” With that, she threw her door open and sprinted into the rain.

He grumbled something about not telling him what to do, then followed her. The rain reminded him how nice the car was. Liza opened the carriage door and peeked her head in. She was talking to someone. Barnum found his way to the entryway.

“You guys okay?”

Phillip was crouching next to Anne. She looked as if she’d just woken up. He smiled big, pearly whites in relief. “Just want to get out of here already.” Their eyes turned to the unconscious driver, Mr. Fletchly, propped up in the corner. “He needs medical attention. He woke up once, but he was delirious. I tried to keep him awake but to no avail.”

“You did well, Phillip, you’re not to blame,” Liza praised. “You and P. T. carry the driver to the backseat. I can take Anne.”

The rain was slowing.

Said person scooted over as close as she could for Liza to pick her up bridal style. It looked like the older woman had no trouble carrying another grown woman. That left room for the boys to drag Mr. Fletchly out a bit, where he was more easily accessible.

“I get the legs, you get the arms?” Phillip suggested, already hooking his fingers beneath his knees.

Barnum placed his wrists under the other man’s armpits. “One, two, three—“

Mr. Fletchly was heavier than he looked. Barnum guessed they weighed around the same, though his own was more in muscle. So when he hefted the man up, flexing muscles from his biceps to his abdomen, the sharp stab of pain stole his breath. His next breath was shallow and quick.

“You okay? You don’t look so good.” Concern was etched into Phillip’s features as they carried him to Liza’s car.

“Hm? Yeah. Good.” He swallowed. Just a little further...He took another step backwards and stepped in a hole. His ankle gave way and sent him sprawling on his back with Mr. Fletchly on top of him. Another rib cracked. He bit back a scream but couldn’t stop the groan that managed to slip out.

Liza was suddenly at his side. “Hey, are you alright? And quit telling me you’re fine, I can tell you’ve been through a lot tonight.”

Barnum shook his head and struggled to push himself up. “Just my ankle, I promise. It’s only a sprain. Help me up?”

Liza growled quietly in skepticism but grabbed ahold of Barnum’s bicep and helped pull him up. She had a strong grip. “Go get in the car, P. T. Phillip and I can load Mr. Fletchly in.”

Barnum wasn’t in a place to argue. With shaky arms he let Phillip and Liza take the weight off him and begin to secure the unconscious man in the backseat. Once they started back to the house, he welcomed sleep yet again.

Fingers painfully prodding his chest pulled him from his sleep. He groaned and pushed the hand away. Even with his eyes closed, a source of light invaded the darkness.

“Quit that.” It was Liza. “Your breathing was raspy and shallow. I figured it was something like this. You should’ve told me your ribs were broken.”

Prying his eyes open, he realized he was still in the car. The rain had been reduced to a mist. She was standing next to his open door, leaning in for a closer look with a lantern in hand. His shirt was open against his exposed chest. “Where are they?”

“They’re in the house, warming up and eating a bite. We need to get you taken care of. Any other injuries I should know about?”

“No,” he wheezed. “And neither does Phillip or Anne. Please d-don’t tell them.” He was pleading now. “Don’t want them t-to feel bad.”

She started buttoning his shirt back. “For letting you go get help?”

He nodded as she helped him out of the car. With his twisted ankle, he could only limp up to the porch. Liza’s hand was on the doorknob, but she looked at him first.

He nodded and straightened his posture before she pushed the door open. A wave of warmth and comfortable lighting welcomed him along with the sight of Phillip and Anne huddled together on the sofa, wrapped in blankets. She had her splinted foot propped up on the ottoman. They held bowls of soup, taking slow bites. Mr. Fletchly was sitting, now conscious, on the opposite sofa with a bag of ice pressed to his head.

“Mr. Barnum,” he looked up, surprised. “My deepest thanks to you. I’d likely be dead if it weren’t for you and Miss Smith.”

He shook his head, “It was nothing. Anybody could’ve done that.”

Liza waved him off even though she had a shy smile. “Just doing my job.”

He turned to Phillip and Anne. “And thank you, too, for tending to me whilst Mr. Barnum sought help.”

Anne gave one of her smiles. The kind that brightened your world. “My pleasure, Mr. Fletchly. We were only sorry we couldn’t make you more comfortable in that carriage.”

Phillip nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed through a mouthful of vegetables. “Exactly what she said.”

Liza turned to Barnum. She spoke quietly. “I’ll fix you some soup, but go to the washroom. I’ll met you there in a minute and wrap your chest up.

Without another word, she walked off to the kitchen. Liza wasn’t the type of person to argue with, so he obeyed her instructions and left to the restroom. Away from watchful eyes, he allowed his shoulders to sag and propped his palms against the counter for support. His body ached. It felt like forever before Liza quietly rapped her knuckles on the other side of the door in a request to enter.

He nodded, forgetting that she couldn’t see him. “You can come in.”

The door was pulled open and she entered, then soundlessly closed it. “Are Phillip and Anne _together_?” she wondered aloud.

He huffed to himself at the thought of Liza, as kind as she seemed to be, frowning upon their relationship. “Yes,” he answered bluntly, looking her in the eyes.

She nodded, sorting around in her cabinets. “Don’t worry, I’m not discriminative against...uncommon pairings. They’re cute. Aha,” she pulled something out that looked like a type of corset. It was a wide, canvas, wrap-around device. The inside was lined with some sort of soft cushion. She waved her finger around at him, gesturing for him to remove his shirt. “So, why were you traveling?”

He started to undo the buttons. “Have you heard of my circus a few towns over?”

Her lips quirked into a smirk. “Oh, you’re _that_ P. T.? I’ve read about it in the papers. Despite what the critics say, I think it’s a good thing, what you’re doing.”

That brought a smile to his face. “Thank you. We just decided to travel a bit to recruit some more people.” The last button came undone and he slipped it off his shoulders.

She looked thoughtfully at the bruises spread across his ribcage. They were a dark purple. She very carefully prodded the area. He hissed through his teeth when she hit a particularly bumpy spot. Her eyes darted to his, pausing.

“Tell me, what’s your favorite color?”

He frowned at the randomness of the question. “Um, red, I gue—“

Without warning, she slammed her palm into his rib with a great amount of controlled strength.

A yell hit the back of his throat. He groaned. “What was _that_?”

“It was out of place. That was the only one, don’t worry.”

He took a shuddering breath. It felt easier. Liza took his forearm and helped him to his feet. She fitted the canvas around his rib cage area and connected the edges around the back with medical pins. He could feel the support it provided.

“There’s nothing more I can do,” she spread her hands apologetically. “Just take it easy and don’t be lifting heavy things. And you were in that rain for a while, it’s safe to say you’ll probably have a cold for a few days. Stay in bed and let someone take care of you. Please.”

“You _are_ the doctor.”

“Liz?” The voice belonged to a woman, outside in the hall, that Barnum hadn’t met.

Liza froze, but quickly regained her cool and beckoned him out the door with her. “P. T, this is Bella, my roommate,” she said rather quickly. “We live together.”

Bella was a head shorter than Liza with soft brown hair swept up in a bun and freckles splashed across her face. Her mouth formed an ‘O’ shape. “Oh. Um, hi, P. T.” It didn’t appear to be shyness that made her look caught off-guard. “The nice people in the living room told me about the accident. And how you saved the day,” she winked at Liza.

Liza’s cheeks turned pink. “Oh, um, I guess. A little.”

Barnum studied them. “You know you don’t have to keep the act up with me, right?” They looked up, surprised. “I know you two are a couple.”

Liza sighed with a sheepish smile. “Married, actually….What gave it away?”

It was Bella that answered. “Despite what you may think, honey, you’re not that discreet.” She stared at Liza endearingly.

Liza was a blushing mess. “C’mon, I’m sure both of you are hungry.”

 

—

 

They huddled over bowls of soup at the kitchen table. Barnum spooned another bite of carrots and potato into his mouth. He’d have to get the recipe. “So what do you do, Bella?”

“I’m a teacher at the elementary school in town,” she said.

Liza pointed her spoon at Bella. “I’ve been trying to get her to join some sort of gymnastics program though.”

“Why’s that?” He asked, interest piqued.

Bella sighed and gave little eye roll. “Just because I’m a little flexible.”

Liza eyed Bella with a sly smile. “Oh, she’s very flexible.”

“Not at the table, you child,” Bella hissed.

“But really. She is, though.”

Barnum looked at her expectantly.

“Oh, good grief.” Bella stood up and laid face down on the floor. Then she pumped her feet up and landed them on either side of her face. She rolled to a sitting position.

“Whoa,” Barnum gushed.

But she wasn’t quite done yet. She placed her palms on the floor and then rotated her elbows out, revealing that she was double-jointed. The position looked unnatural and nauseating.

Liza fake-gagged. “Gets me every time.”

As Bella took her seat again, Barnum inquired about her abilities. “Is it only with your elbows?”

She shook her head. “Shoulders, too. I can kind of do my knees as well, but it isn’t as good as my arms.”

A light bulb formed in Barnum’s head. He leaned forward. “Say, have you heard of my circus, P. T. Barnum’s?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so the whole joke is: "What's the best thing about Switzerland? I don't know, but the flag is a big plus." That's not offensive, is it? If it is, let me know and I can change the joke :) I was just scrolling the internet for one because I'm that unoriginal. 
> 
> Thanks for all the support and positive feedback! And shout-out to all the people who hated this and thought it sucked, but didn't say anything because they're nice. I love you guys too ;P Next one should be up much sooner than this last one.


	4. Dangerous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> P. T. Barnum has never given his family a reason to find him threatening or dangerous.
> 
> He snaps one day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FIRST OF ALL - he does not snap at his fam. Nah. None of that in this house. Don't worry ;)
> 
> Also, I'm sorry bc this is probably trash. I've read it so many times that it looks like garbage.
> 
> EDIT: woooow guess who made some mistakes! Idek why but I guess the unedited version got posted instead of the corrected one. Oops! And: I realize that I've written the circus building into this story, even though it takes place after the movie. Super sorry about the inconsistency, but it works best for my story. Apologies, I am trash 0:)

Protesters had always been bearable. Intense, yes. Hurtful, definitely. Good for business? That was debatable. Barnum had always kept an eye on them with the one in the back of his head. The troupe never performed when he thought it may be unsafe, and those nights he slept with them at circus. Except he never really slept, more like paced around quietly while the others were asleep. There were occasional exceptions, on the nights when Lettie couldn’t sleep and found him perched in a spot where the entrances and exits were easily viewed. Without a word, she’d join him, and just sit in the quiet. She knew why he was awake.

It was another Wednesday, like any other. Their number had ended just as great, just as big, as all their previous ones. The crowd filled the stands, even overflowed into the aisles. It was fortunate they had plans to expand, that way they could bring in more money to disperse among the troupe. This time, protesters had the nerve to come into their show just to scream profane insults at them as they wrapped up. Horrible, awful words spilled profusely from their rotten tooth-filled mouths. Their faces were twisted in hate-filled expressions.

Barnum sent an ice-cold glare their way as he pulled his people out of the ring, a warning to not take it any further. They glared right back.

Most of the night passed uneventfully. Barnum and Phillip had stayed late in his office to discuss the possibility of traveling over mugs of coffee. He respected Phillip’s aversion to alcohol in an attempt at a healthier lifestyle; not just in the physical sense. So that it may be easier for the younger man, Barnum had also cut off his liquor intake supportively.

The clock over the bookshelf read a quarter to midnight. Over the past half-hour, they’d gotten a bit off-topic on the subject of new acts they might squeeze into their routine. Barnum wholeheartedly supported the idea of blindfolded tightrope-walking over flames, but Phillip avidly tried to talk him down from the matter.

“P. T, I’m telling you, we’re not going to find someone who does that for _fun_. Why can’t we just…” he trailed off, eyes flickering behind Barnum’s shoulder through the office window. Muffled shouts reached their ears.

Turning to see what the commotion was, a weight settled in his stomach. Protesters bunched up in a circle in front of the entrance, visible in the upstairs office. The numbers were larger than any group of thugs who’d messed with them, totaling up to around forty or fifty. In the center, a man held a human-sized straw figure with a red coat draped over its shoulders. A black top hat sat on its head, a ‘King of Humbug’ sign settled over its chest painted in red letters. They lit it aflame. He heard Phillip give a low growl from behind.

Slowly, they seemed to realize he and Phillip were looking down at them from above, and turned their chins up to him. Fingers were jabbed, obscenities shouted and the figure was shaken to emphasize their message. Barnum huffed, downing the last bit of his coffee, wishing it was something a little stronger.

A hand fell gently on his shoulder. “They’re small-minded people,” Phillip said. Something in his voice suggested he’d said it before. “Don’t let their ignorance pull you down.”

Barnum nodded silently, staring into the pit that seemed as if it wanted to tear him to pieces.

 

* * *

 

He woke up unsure of where he was, but a sharp crick in his back reminded him that he’d fallen asleep over his desk in the wee hours of the morning. Wool grazed against the exposed skin of his neck above his collar. Phillip must’ve draped a blanket over him. The rich aroma of hot coffee wafted past his nose. Prying his eyes open, he was greeted by the sight of a steaming mug of the hot beverage, accompanied by a plate with a bagel.

Cup and bagel in hand, he made his way downstairs with stiffness stretching through his limbs. The air was quiet. “Phil?”

No one answered. He finished his coffee and put the mug away, then pulled his coat on. He was in need of a warm shower back at his house. As he pushed the building door open, the wood thudded against an object on the other side. A murmured curse tainted the air.

“Hey...er, what are you doing here?” Phillip leaned into the space between door and frame, keeping it from opening all the way.

A look of confusion crossed Barnum’s face. “I’m going to freshen up at home. And you are…?”

“Actually, I need you to find something for me. It’s a book, about two inches thick with a brown leather cover. Check everywhere. Literally, everywhere.”

“Okay, Carlyle. What’s going on?” He tried pressing into the door.

Phillip fought back, “No, come on. I need that book.” He pushed against the door.

_“Phillip.”_

The younger man froze. A defeated sigh escaped his lips. He nudged the door open further. The look on his face told Barnum that he’d happened. “I tried to take care of it before you could see.”

What was he talking about? Phillip Carlyle didn’t hide things from P. T. Barnum. He stepped past the threshold and turned. The straw figure the protesters burned the night before had been pinned above the entrance. The straw was black and charred. Some of the jacket was black with soot, most of it had been burned off. Around it, a message had been painted onto the brick in large, white letters, but had partly been scrubbed off with soap and water. He could make out what it had said, though:

**_DIE SCUM_ **

A little something crumbled in Barnum—maybe it was the hope of ever finding peace with those who disagreed with his show. But on the flip side, something else in him ignited. Spite. Who were they to say what they could or couldn’t do?

“C’mon, let me help you. You shouldn’t have to do that by yourself,” he chided lightly, grabbing another sponge from the bucket of water at the foot of the ladder. He found it slightly amusing that Phillip needed to use the rung above the one where his own feet were planted.

Phillip pulled a second ladder into view and climbed the rungs. He began working on the figure’s bindings, while Barnum scrubbed at the paint.

 

* * *

 

Charity’s hand was small and soft in her husband’s large and muscled one. It was not, however, weak. Charity Barnum had never been weak.

Her hands had held Barnum’s as a young child after her father struck him across the face. They trusted him to pull her through the hedges and into the house they both dreamed of dwelling in. They opened dozens and dozens of letters that sent aches of painful loneliness throughout her being. She lost count of how many letters she’d written addressed to him, yet could never give. Those hands trusted him to keep her from plummeting off the edge of their home’s rooftop. They trembled as she held the newspaper, an image of her lover’s mouth against another’s. She packed her bags with those hands.

And they embraced him when the two finally worked things out.

But by the end of that day, they were trembling. They covered her daughters’ eyes.

She’d finally been shaken.

 

* * *

 

“Oh, look at the flowers!” Charity pointed to a garden shop display window as they passed along the sidewalk. “Purple carnations are my favorite.”

It never ceased to amaze Barnum, how brightly the world could adjust with nothing but a pure smile from Charity Barnum. It certainly brightened his. He squeezed her hand in his a little tighter. Over the period of time it took to walk to the girls’ school, they laughed and talked about birthday presents they might could give to Helen, because God knows Barnum wasn’t about to tell her about what went on last night and earlier that day.

Caroline and Helen exited the building, gaining speed when they saw their daddy waiting for them with open arms.

“Daddy!”

“Girls!” He scooped them up, knowing that he could never again smile as big as he was right then. “How was school today?”

Caroline drew back, still keeping a grin on her face. “I got to read out loud in class!” Then her expression pinched into a sour look. “Johnny tried to kiss my cheek though. I told him no and he didn’t stop, so I hit him in the arm.”

Barnum gasped dramatically. “That’s my girl! That’s what you do if a boy won’t leave you alone even though you asked him to. My little princess, growing up.”

“Hey!” Helen exclaimed. “Me, too!”

“Of course you are, dear! That’s why you’re getting taller and taller,” he hooked his hands underneath her armpits and lifted her into the air, spinning around. “And taller and taller and taller!”

She squealed with glee. Looking past Charity’s shoulder, his own smile faded when he saw a couple of thugs a ways back, hanging out against the brick exterior of a shop. They were watching them. Charity sensed his discomfort and instinctively placed a hand on Caroline’s shoulder.

“Phin,” she said gently. He met her gaze. She mouthed, _What’s wrong?_

He shook his head. “Nothing, dear. Tell you girls what, how about we stay the night at the circus with Phillip and Anne and the others?” His question was quiet, so only they could hear.

Helen gasped. “And Lettie?”

Caroline jumped. “W. D, too?”

“For sure. Alright, let’s go.”

Charity knew something was wrong before he’d even proposed the sleepover away from their house, but did not say anything. It was clearly something he was hesitant to bring up in front of the girls, so Charity let it be and decided to confront him about it later.

Barnum pushed his family in front of him, tossing a subtle glance over his shoulder. The two thugs followed. It was that exact moment he began praying. _Dear God, don’t let them hurt my family. I don’t care what they do to me, but it’s me they want. Not them. Just, please allow them to make it safely to Phillip and the others._

First, they skipped the street to their house, and instead headed straight for the circus. Then Charity caught him looking over his shoulder. It struck her what was happening. Not her family. Not if she had anything to do about it.

Barnum realized that she knew what was going on, and shushed her quietly.

“Phin—“ she started to hiss.

“Hush, Charity,” he silenced her quickly. His voice was low enough that the girls, lost in their own conversations, didn’t hear him. “Don’t let them know we’re aware. Listen to me, if anything happens, you get straight to the circus and don’t look back. Phillip’s there. I can meet you there in a while.”

Her breath hitched in her throat.

They passed large glass window, in which Barnum could see their reflection. Two more thugs joined the duo behind them, and they began closing distance. Barnum leaned to Charity. “As soon as we turn this corner, duck into the alley and wait for them to pass.”

Charity then tapped her girls’ shoulders for their attention. “Listen,” her gentle voice was quiet. “Do you girls remember how we play hide and seek at home?” They both nodded. “Good. That’s what we’re about to do now. You have to follow me and can’t make a sound, alright?”

They nodded again, brows furrowed in knowledge that something was wrong.

Barnum savored the touch of Caroline’s hair, the soft curve of Helen’s shoulder. He pressed a soft kiss to Charity’s temple right as the corner came.

“Go!” He shouted.

Thy darted forward into the nearest alley while Barnum rocketed across the street, tearing his coat off and leaving it to the mercy of the sidewalk; it weighed him down and the red was too easily spotted in a crowd. Weaving in between commuters and the occasional carriage, a chin over his shoulder confirmed that all four were onto him, and he nearly laughed in relief. The flower shop wooshed by, which told him he was halfway to the circus. Charity and the girls needed time to get there, so he cut left into an alley that emptied out on a busier street. Away from their destination. He was thankful for all those years spent working on the railroad—he’d built up quality muscle all over. Without it, he’d be in the hands of those thugs behind him.

 

* * *

 

Caroline and Helen’s shoulders shook with sobs, tears streaming down pink cheeks. Charity had hands on their backs, guiding their feet, aching from running, down the sidewalk and around staring strangers. She considered holing up in a shop to see if they had a phone, but the risk of wasting time for a disappointing ‘no’ was an all too real fear in her heart. Besides, what would the police do? They likely wouldn't lift a finger to help Barnum, for fear it may rise questions of their 'integrity.'

“Don’t slow down, keep going!” She encouraged, panting not only from the exercise but the adrenaline, too. “Your body is capable of so much more than your mind thinks.”

She noticed Caroline’s chin tilt up bit at those words.

The door handle was in her grasp not soon enough, but flung it open and shoved the girls through. “Phillip!” She shouted.

Footsteps thudded on the staircase. “Charity?” He came into view, concern etched in his features. “What’s going on?”

She was out of breath. “We have to go find Phineas, he was being chased by thugs.” He bolted back the way he came, voicing for her to follow. “Caroline, Helen, up the stairs, now!”

“What the hell happened?” Phillip usually watched his language in front of the kids. Right now, Charity didn’t care.

“We picked the girls up from school. Phineas noticed a couple of thugs watching us. He had us hide while he distracted them and ran off. There were four by then.”

She noticed his muscles clench, freezing for just a second. “What?”

He ducked into his office and came back out with his coat, passing by Charity and not meeting her eyes.

She followed him closely. “Phillip, tell me right now.”

Phillip sensed her anger, but doubted it was directed at him. He opened and closed his mouth, not really knowing what to say or how to say it. “I didn’t even think they’d follow through….” He half-mumbled. Three steps remained; he jumped them.

“What are you talking about?”

Phillip threw his jacket on. “Last night, when we stayed late, protesters were making death threats. They just took it to a whole new level.” He opened the door that led to the sparsely-populated streets and gestured for Charity to come with.

Charity pulled the girls along with her. She wondered if it’d be wiser to leave them at the building, but no one else was there, and who knew if there were other protesters waiting for her to leave her children unattended in the circus building? At least if they were confronted out in public, they had her and Phillip and the other pedestrians to be aware of it.

The cold breeze took her breath away; she just pulled Caroline and Helen closer.

Phillip picked up his pace a little, not quite jogging, looking up and down streets for any sign of his partner. “Where did you last see him?”

Charity thought hard. He’d intentionally led the thugs away from them, away from the circus. “Hardman Street, but he’s likely headed west of there.”

 

* * *

 

Barnum’s legs were starting to tire. Who knew thugs were athletic? This was the sixth block he thundered down. Hopefully Charity and the girls were safe by now. He whipped around a corner, then ducked into an alley, resting against the building. His chest heaved. Maybe he should up his workout regime to increase his endurance.

The street was quiet. Nobody passed. He considered peeking outside a moment later, but a chorus of shoes thudding against pavement down the far end of the alley caught his attention. They’d cut him off. He surged into the open street street only to get shoved back by heavy hands. Snickers filled the area when he fell on his back.

“Not so brave without your freaks, are you?”

Barnum was silent, not giving them the satisfaction. He simply stood up and brushed the dirt off his slacks.

They laughed. The one behind him kicked his knee in as another sent a fist to his face. It didn’t knock him all the way down; he was more built than they might’ve given him credit for. He spit out a wad of blood and glared, once again rising to his feet. “I’m not going to fight you.”

“Well, that just makes our job a whole lot easier, right, Harry?” The other one behind him taunted.

The big one who’d shoved him back in the alley’s face twisted with irritation. “We _don’t use names,_ Vince.” His face fell when he realized his mistake, then mumbled a defeated obscenity.

Barnum would have laughed if the situation had better odds.

“I’m sure your bitch would fight back.”

Barnum craned his neck to look at the one behind him. His world started to turn an angry shade of red.

“She looks like a fighter. Especially to keep those little brats safe. I bet I’m stronger, though.”

Every nerve tingled, his breathing was shaky. Nails bit into the palms of his hands. “What did you say?”

“I said, your _bitch_ —“

Barnum launched his whole body into a assault, tackling him to the ground. Fists pounded against the thug’s face hard and fast, hardly giving him time to process what was happening. His head even snapped back against the pavement a couple times. Just as he was about to drop a knockout punch, hands grabbed his shirt and yanked him back.

A boot crashed against his chest. Barnum caught the foot and twisted it, feeling the bone crack. He leapt to his feet, back hunched in a fighting stance. With his lips pulled into a snarl, blood spilling from his lip, clothes astray and dirty, he was sure he looked like a feral animal. Harry pushed himself backwards, limp leg dragging along.

Vince lifted his leg to jab a foot at his hip. Barnum turned and drove his foot into his standing knee, instead. He collapsed in incoherent cries, cradling his injured knee.

A hook to the side caught him by surprise. He grunted, turned and blocked an incoming punch. With a simple flick of his wrist, the fist in his grip snapped with a bone jutting out of the skin. Barnum hurled his boot against his shin and sent the man tumbling down.

Barnum wasn’t aware of anyone approaching until Charity’s voice rang out. “Phineas!”

It was a split-second distraction that allowed the last man standing to catch him across the jaw, a blow that threw off his sense of balance and left him stumbling to the ground. The man made his way toward Charity. That was what set him off. Barnum clawed at the ground, a growl hitting the back of his throat, and lunged at his legs.

They both went sprawling, but it was Barnum that gained the upper hand. He threw fists into his face, one after the other, never relenting. Skin broke.

“Phin, stop!”

He didn’t slow down. The bones in the other man's face began to strain.

“PT,” he heard Phillip urge, “get off him, now. He’s done.”

He still didn’t stop.

When he felt a pair of hands tug at his shoulders, he instinctively threw his elbow back. It landed in Phillip’s face. While he was sorry, he still didn’t stop. His fists were bloodied from both his and the other man’s blood. It was splattered up past his wrists. The man’s face was unrecognizable, and Barnum wondered if his brain still functioned. But it didn’t matter—he tried to touch his wife. They stalked his girls. They _terrified his family._ Nobody ever attempted such a thing without repercussions.

It wasn’t until there was a scream and high-pitched “Daddy!” that he held himself from delivering another blow. Charity hovered over Caroline and Helen, hands over their faces to shelter them from the scene. She was shaking. His children’s frames wracked with sobs, their cries twisting his heart to pieces.

Something in him snapped. He realized he’d never made his girls cry before. Not a single tear. But today they stood, petrified by the sheer violence he’d displayed. Every drop of blood splattered across his face burned into his skin. He felt so _tainted_ , so _corrupted._ The light in which they saw their father would never be the same, he knew it, and that thought made him want to crawl in a hole and wither away.

He flinched when Phillip’s hands gently met his shoulders again.

“He’s done, Phin. Let it go. You’re done.”

The tension sagged from his body. His muscles relaxed. It was the realization of what he’d done, what he made his girls witness, that moved him off of the man’s body. Charity ushered the girls out of view, where they clung to each other. It should’ve been him who made his way to them. Instead he stood there, knees trembling, while Phillip was the one to crouch down to their level to comfort them. Charity broke their embrace to shuffle towards her husband. Unshed tears glistened in her eyes.

“Phineas,” she breathed. It was a whispered question, one that asked if he was still here. If he was her Phineas, the boy she married and loved. It sent an ache through his heart and he held out his hands to her, as if an invitation to come into his arms. She flinched away from the bloodied limbs.

That’s what drove a fissure through his soul. The girls would never be his again—not truly. Not after this. That was made clear to him by the horrified expression shining in Charity’s eyes and the muffled sobs coming from around the corner. Hesitantly, as a tear dropped from her eye, she walked into his embrace. He almost wrapped his arms around her, but he would’ve gotten blood on her dress. It was too nice of a nice dress. She was so small against him. He was so large. Why was he so big? They were both shaking silently, holding each other until Barnum mustered up the courage to make a suggestion.

“I don’t think I should see the girls for a while.” He barely heard it. Charity might not have even known what he said.

For a moment, that’s what he thought, he couldn’t bring himself to repeat the words, but Charity quietly answered him. “I think that may be for the best.”

 

* * *

 

“I’m sorry, Phillip. I’m sorry for the eye, and that I made you apart of that situation. I’m sorry.”

Phillip shook his head, removing the bag of ice from his face and leaving it on Barnum’s desk. A dark, nasty bruise tainted swollen flesh from his eye to his cheekbone. Seeing it once again made him wince. “I’d rather it be me than anyone else. Besides, it’s not me that I’m worried about.”

“I nearly broke your cheekbone.” Barnum scoffed, downing the rest of his whiskey. Maybe it’d be better to just drink from the bottle. He pressed his knuckles into a bowl of ice. Phillip must’ve seen the glint in his eye, because he leaned over and plucked the bottle from his hand.

“Don’t do that,” he warned, speaking from personal experience.

Barnum’s reply was quick and unfiltered. “How else am I supposed to make my head quiet? I made Caroline and Helen cry. I made my wife cry. Phil, I...they’re scared of me.” The last bit was quiet.

Phillip frowned, placing the ice pack back against his face. “They’re not scared of you, PT. The situation scared them. They’ve never seen their father… _act_ like that before. Quit beating yourself up.” A few beats of silence passed, then he screwed the lid onto the bottle of liquor, and left the room. With the whiskey.

Barnum huffed. Everything was too quiet. His mind fumbled for a distraction, eyes skimming over papers sprawled out over his desk. Nothing worked. His fingers found their way to his curls, pulling them in an attempt to shut his head up. Images of Charity, covering her face, were plastered across the backs of his eyelids. Sounds of his children screaming and crying echoed through his skull. He wondered if they were all still awake at home, the kids holding onto their mother in silence as they couldn’t sleep. Or perhaps they had fallen asleep crying, yet their slumber was plagued by nightmares and violence.

A large bundle of cotton hitting him in the face interrupted his brooding. Phillip had come back, only he was holding a blanket of his own. He pulled the chair out, plopped down, and kicked his feet up on the desk. He realized Barnum was watching him with a questioning eye.

“What? I’m sleeping here. Who else is going to keep an eye on you?” With a face that suggested he might’ve been smirking on the inside, he threw one end of the blanket over his feet and nestled into the stiff chair.

Barnum felt his shoulders curl in. He felt so small. Phillip shouldn’t have been here, keeping him company. In all honesty, he felt like he should be rotting at the bottom of hell. Phillip should’ve been at home with Anne. Amazing, gentle Anne, who could love him and show him he was a good man in her way. How was Barnum supposed to tell him how much he appreciated him? He threw an elbow in his face. Nice.

The cuts across his knuckles stung when he removed them from the crushed ice. It was the least he deserved. Being the selfish man he was, he didn’t tell Phillip to leave, though it was partly due to the fact that he doubted the younger man _would_ leave. He wanted Phillip to stay. As much as he hated to admit it, having someone here grounded him and would keep him from doing anything rash. So he unfolded his blanket, hugged it around his shoulders, and folded his arms over papers and unfinished poster designs.

Sleep did not come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ everyone who's read "The Silence is Deafening", did you guys catch the reference? No spoilers in the comments though, please ;) 
> 
> sorry, this is trash i am trash everything is trash (except for you guys, y'all are awesome ily all)
> 
> EDIT: chapter six leads off of chapter five, so in order to keep from making mistakes if something in the plot changes, I'm writing them together and will post them at the same time. I've gotten to the /good/ stuff and I'm on a roll, so it hopefully won't be way too long before an update comes. Thanks for staying patient!


	5. Gun Violence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: obviously, there's gun violence down below. Be prepared for the feels, 'cause I'm packing them in in the following chapters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAHHHH thanks to all of you guys who left such AWESOME comments! You guys really do make my day, any time I see one. I'm sorry it's taken so long, but I have two chapters in one update this time! I hope that'll make up for it. I wrote 8,814 words for these updates combined, and this is only 2,053 of it. The next one will be longer ;)

Five minutes to curtain.

Eight twenty-five in the evening, their last show for this Wednesday night. Barnum was always an energetic one; even after three shows that day, he was still excited for this performance and the joy they could spread. Normally, everyone else would be ready to hit the sack, but this past week had been filled with more positive auras. The only reason that could be, was the lack of discriminating, unpleasant articles published for the city to be influenced by. The troupe was happy. He could see it in the way they prepared for the show backstage. Lettie hummed a soft tune as she touched up her makeup and hairdo. Anne’s legs were stretched into an effortless splits while W. D. pushed on her shoulders; quiet jokes were exchanged between the siblings. Constantine and Jeremy conversed nearby in hushed tones and loud smiles.

“Places, everyone!” he called out exuberantly. It went without saying that he was also thrilled about the very welcomed turn of events, but he couldn’t deny there was a voice in the back of his head, constantly nagging at him. _Don’t get too comfortable. They’ll come back, harder than ever._

He did his best to ignore it.

They filed into position, still carrying small conversation, but their newest recruit caught his eye. Bella was stiff as cardboard, breathing rigidly. It made her leotard appear constricting and bun seem clunky. It was perfectly understandable that she was nervous. Tonight was her first night of performances. She did excellent in the previous shows, but it must’ve been overwhelming. Still, she showed tremendous promise in all the weeks of rehearsals she’d participated in.

Barnum took notice of her discomfort and approached her with a hand on her shoulder. “They don’t know it yet, but they are gonna love you,” he repeated the words he’d spoken to dear Lettie a couple years prior.

She met his eyes with a kind smile brightening her own. It was a silent _thank you_.

He gave her a wink before turning back, only to have Phillip clap a hand on his shoulder. The dimmed lighting suited his ringleader jacket, with how gold crossed the middle.

“We’ve got a nice crowd out there,” he said. “Let’s blow them away.”

* * *

 

The lights shut off, sending hushed gasps through the audience. That was his cue.

_“Ladies and gents, this is the moment you’ve waited for.”_

His voice broke out quietly yet demanding of attention, immediately silencing the whole room. With his footsteps echoing quietly as he parted from the troupe behind him, the tension could be cut with a knife. The words came naturally, almost as easily as breathing. The percussions began to build up and he found himself thudding his cane against the ground to the rhythm. 

The intensity of the first verse came to a climax, and that’s when the rest of his troupe flooded into the ring in an explosion of light, color, and life. Every single time, every single show, it pumped adrenaline and euphoria through his body like nothing he could describe. This was his home, and this was his family. This was where he belonged. Each and every line he belted out was filled with passion as he made eye contact with people in the crowd. He found that was best when attempting to convey the personal message of the song.

His eyes found a young boy smiling ear to ear and jumping to the music. A girl found the strength to take her friend’s hand timidly before they both blushed. A grown man had tears shining in his eyes, mouth parted in awe. These were the reactions that moved him, the raw emotion and feelings that his show helped uncover. It meant the world and beyond.

The song came to a loud close, just as big, just as dramatic as all of their other ones. The audience exploded into applause. Barnum stood there, soaking it in, drowning in it, because the love and approval reverberating from the hands of strangers never got old. He let out a small laugh as he met eyes with Charity in the crowd, smiling just as big as him, clapping just as loud as the others. Casting a glance over at Phillip, he realized he was enjoying this just as much. It was evident by the broad smile, panting chest and lively posture.

The lack of excitement from a few gentlemen in one of the aisles drew his eye. One reached inside his coat, the others following suit, and light glinted off the steel barrel of their revolvers. Before he had a chance to react, their arms were fully extended and brandishing the weapons.

“Gun! Get down!” he screamed, but the volume of the audience seemed to overwhelm his warning.

The gunshots were louder, though.

* * *

 

Charity watched him collapse.

It was more like knocked back, really. With every bullet that pierced him, she counted three, his body jerked in a way that shouldn't have. It was only when he hit the ground did the realization of what just happened seemed to register to the people around her. The air was filled with chaos and panic as people fled for the exits, and what else could she do but pull her children protectively to her chest? The shooters, whoever they were and wherever it came from, could still be in the building, and she wasn’t about to leave her children alone for them like a hearty meal.

It took seconds for the bleachers to empty; it felt like an eternity since she could only watch helplessly through tightly-packed bodies, trying to catch a glimpse of her husband. Shock and fear were still rippling through her body. Eventually, she was able to push her way through the thinning crowd and found herself wrapped in Lettie’s arms. She’d run straight into her.

“Let me keep the girls,” she said, voice thick with emotion. Her eyes were watering.

All that was needed to convey her gratitude was a simple facial expression, but Lettie understood. Charity raced off to the figures that crouched around her husband on the ground. It was Phillip and W. D. The latter, in his purple outfit and cape, turned towards her in surprise.

“You shouldn’t be here, Miss—“

“He’s my husband. Don’t tell me I shouldn’t be here.” She understood his intentions were pure, only having her best interest in mind. But she was strong, and she was Barnum’s other half. She needed to be by his side. However long it may be, however hopeless the situation, however painful and emotionally crippling the rest of the night might be, she had to be by his side.

So W. D. snapped his mouth shut and nodded.

Her attention turned towards her husband, whose face was contorted in pain, eyes scrunched close. His shaking hands were pushing weakly at Phillip’s palms, which were pressed  against P. T.’s chest. A few inches from his heart.

“Damn it, P. T., you're losing a lot of blood! Quit trying to push my hands away!” Phillip demanded, frantic. Phillip Carlyle was panicking. Blood still gushed between his fingers.

“Girls,” P. T. gasped. “Where….”

Charity’s fingers found Barnum’s  hair. At the gentle caress, his eyes fluttered towards her. They were fearful and bloodshot. “I’m right here. The girls are with Lettie.”

He sighed as his eyes started to drift close. Fear gripped her heart like a vice; she couldn’t move or speak or breathe.

Luckily, W. D. was there. “Hey, hey!”

His eyes jerked open blearily.

“Keep your eyes open, Barnum.”

“Phin?” She asked softly, despite the debilitating waver tearing at her voice, then let her words turn more authoritative. “Listen to me. You’re going to stay awake. Not just for me, but for Caroline and Helen as well. Do not leave us.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, choking back a cry, and nodded. She rewarded him with the best smile she could muster.

Phillip shifted his weight down again in an attempt to slow the bleeding some more. A strangled scream was torn from the back of Barnum’s throat. It sent shivers down her spine. Tears tracked down his clammy cheeks.

“Liza should be here any second,” Phillip mumbled, his eyes fixated on the bleeding. “They’ve sent for an ambulance.”

Where was Liza? She’d been here earlier to support Bella for her first show. Maybe she’d run backstage to grab her bag.

“‘M sorry, Chairy,” he rasped. The old nickname brought back nostalgia for times far better than this. His words were slurred. The energy, the joy, the life, was leaving his body. “Love you girls. So...much.”

A whirlwind of emotions threatened to implode inside of her. “Don’t speak like that, Phineas,” she rebuked. Part of her was angry that he’d even thought to say those words. “The doctor’s almost here.”

True to her word, Liza executed a knee slide, which would’ve made any baseball player proud, to Barnum’s other side with her leather satchel in hand. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “It was hard to get through the crowd. Then I had to find my bag backstage with Bella’s stuff.”

She motioned for Phillip to move his hands once she’d grabbed a pair of scissors. He complied, but obviously reluctant.

“Listen, P. T.,” she enunciated each word clearly and loudly. “We’re going to help you, but only if you let us, okay? Let us help you.”

Quick as a whip, she sliced the middle of the black vest with embroidered gold, then ripped the white button-up undershirt open. She stuffed a wad of gauze against the wound. Truth be told, it was difficult to tell where it was through the blood. Charity’s heart dropped when Liza cut the jacket in order to carefully maneuver her hand under his back, prodding skin in search of the exit wound. Phin loved that jacket.

Barnum hissed through clenched teeth when her fingers abused the torn flesh.

“This is the worst of them, it looks like, and I’ve only got time to take care of one. We’ll have to wait until we get to the hospital to care for the others.”

Liza continued to work fervently, cleaning the wound and bandaging it in only a matter of seconds. The only matter was that two other bullet wounds riddled his body. It was hard to find the other two, given the fact that a bright red jacket encased most of his body, but now that Charity looked closely, she could find bloodpools in the fabric. One in his left shoulder, and the last right above his left hip. This would be devastating. If it didn’t kill him—Charity then chided herself for such a though—just the _idea_ of nerve or muscle damage was terrifying. Not Phineas. Phineas, who jumped and danced and played with their girls. It would destroy him.

 _One battle at a time,_ she told herself.

Liza handed a wad of folded gauze to Phillip. “Keep pressure on his shoulder,” she instructed, then took her own fabric and pressed it into Barnum’s hip. Hard.

Phillip winced as he followed her lead, knowing full well that the need to keep the ringmaster alive outweighed his desire to keep from hurting him.

Barnum’s back arched against the pressure, but there was little room for movement. The heels of his boots dug at the ground. Charity grasped his hand to give him an anchor to reality, to the world, to her. The lack of strength in his cold grip was unnerving. He’d always had such strong hands. She found herself choking back terrified tears. She wouldn’t spend these possibly last moments of her husband’s life crying. He needed her.

W. D.’s head snapped towards the doors. “Over here!” he shouted, waving his arms. Thank God he had such a deep, commanding voice

Charity moved so they could place the canvas stretcher next to Barnum.

“One, two, three—“ two medics lifted Barnum and set him on the stretcher. He cried out weakly, all energy sapped from him.

They lifted him up, but his hand shot out to grab Phillip’s bloodied one. “Girls…” he gasped. He didn’t have to finish, because by the look on the younger man’s face, he understood what he’d meant.

Then they carried him off, and left the circus eerily quiet.


	6. Finish the Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is what follows the events in the previous chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a feeling there may be a mistake/inconsistency with the time, but I can't find it. If you come across it before I do, terribly sorry! If it's pointed out to me I can fix it.
> 
> EDIT: I have edited in just a few sentences around the end, in case you've read this before and were slightly confused.

Charity Barnum was a force to be reckoned with.

Phillip was blown away by her controlled but seething anger. Her posture was rim-rod straight, features pulled tight. She paced back and forth in the same pattern as she wrung her hands. Every once in a while, Phillip caught her mumbling some incoherent, angry thought. She was trying to cool off before presenting herself to the girls. They needed a stable rock to hold onto, as did she, but the years before Phineas had entered her life taught her how to do many things for herself.

Liza returned from scrubbing her hands. Bella was by her side, still in her performing outfit but covered with Liza’s jacket. “Any idea on where the shooters ran off to?”

W. D. had planted himself at the doors, keeping an eye out. Phillip admired how intimidating he could come across, even in a purple leotard. It didn’t feel that long ago when he’d been on the receiving end of that attitude. W. D’s bulging biceps were folded against his chest. “Haven’t seen any sign of them.”

The scent of blood still clogged Phillip’s nose. He’d washed his hands, scrubbed them raw, as soon as they’d taken Barnum off. He doubted he’d be able to get rid of the smell for a long time. Despite the chill spring air, he’d grown hot and abandoned his jacket on the bleachers. Flecks of blood stained the hem of the white undershirt near his wrists. He just rolled them up to his elbows, out of view.

Charity disappeared backstage to where Lettie and Anne comforted the girls. The curtains were parted far enough that he could catch a few movements between the family. Caroline and Helen were doing their best to hold back tears. Charity had knelt down to them, and as far as he could tell, she wasn’t crying. She was their steady rock.

This made Phillip feel a twinge of guilt; he felt so shaken and (dare he say it) afraid; here he was, a grown man doing all he could to keep it together while Charity Barnum stayed strong in order to comfort her children. The children of her husband, who had been sent to the hospital with blood loss and multiple, life-threatening  gunshot wounds.

Anne emerged from behind the curtain. She’d removed her pink wig and covered her shoulders with her cream shawl. Phillip held his arms out in a welcoming embrace, to which she moved into. Her breath was shaky.

“I’m scared, Phillip,” she finally admitted.

There were many things he could say. That everything would be okay, that Barnum was strong, that Liza and the other doctors would be perfectly capable of saving him. He didn’t say any of those things.

“I know. Me too.”

* * *

 

No more than half an hour was spent at the circus grounds before Charity was finally able to leave. Mrs. Barnum and Phillip said their goodbyes and called for a carriage to take them to the hospital. The entire ride was quiet, both of them left alone to the terrors of their own mind. Anne and Lettie wanted to come, and eventually they would, but they found it best to have a small amount of visitors there at first. Besides, Lettie was like a mother to the other performers. If anyone could comfort them, it was Lettie Lutz. Anne, on the other hand, would help the others attempt to tidy up the scene that would scar them for many years to come.

The infirmary wing was mostly silent. There were three other beds in the hall, but they were empty. Phillip wished people were here, talking quietly in the background. The noise would’ve been a welcome distraction, or else he’d spend the entire night at the mercy of his thoughts.

What time was it? The show...ended at around nine, it had taken the medics ten minutes to arrive, and it had been around three hours since they first took P. T. to the emergency room. So it was sometime past midnight. That couldn’t be right, it had felt like an eternity ago that everything was actually peaceful.

With the way Charity gazed wistfully at her husband’s unconscious face, cold and clammy, he felt he was intruding. Barnum looked so _soft_ —the way the white bed sheets covered his chest, almost up to his neck in a protective cocoon, and how his brown curls innocently framed his face, he’d never seemed so small. Phineas wasn’t a small man. Charity had taken it upon herself to gently comb her fingers through the sweat-ridden locks of hair after he’d come out of surgery, displeased with how un-Phineas-like it appeared.

Phillip found his eyes subconsciously flickering to the windows and doorways every minute or so in anxiety over the attack. Once or twice, Charity caught his fitful glances and returned them with only a fraction of a weak smile.

The moment was interrupted by the doctor’s arrival with Liza. Phillip was on his feet immediately, and Charity might’ve done the same if it weren’t for her holding Barnum’s hand to her chest.

“I’m Doctor Redman, I helped operate on Mr. Barnum earlier.” He looked to be in his forties or fifties, with a nice waistcoat over a button-up shirt. “The most pressing matter at the time being is that he’s lost around twenty-five to thirty-five percent of his blood. It’s critical that he receives a blood transfusion, as soon as possible.”

“Blood transfusion?” The concern was evident in Charity’s voice. “I know of it, but I’ve never known anyone who had it.”

“It comes with its risks,” Liza warned. Phillip’s heart sunk. There was a catch. “There’s a possibility the blood won’t take, which could result in a variety of life-threatening symptoms, depending on how his body reacts. I apologize for my bluntness, but the worst case scenario is that P. T. dies as a result.”

Phillip flinched. This introduced a whole new road they had to travel down—what were the other symptoms he could experience? What were his chances against those symptoms if he had them?

Doctor Redman did a poor job of concealing his irritation at Liza, and Phillip had a feeling it didn’t have to do with her giving Charity the option of not having a transfusion. These two didn’t like each other, and it was easy to tell now that Phillip had taken notice. Liza’s arms were crossed and she wouldn’t look at the other man. Redman’s hands were curling and uncurling into fist. His jaw clenched when she spoke. What was the deal between these two?

Liza seemed to sense his and Charity’s distress and took it upon herself to answer their unvoiced worries. “We have equipment ready for some of the possible negative reactions, so it’s likely that we’d be able to keep him alive during one of these circumstances. Although we strongly recommend taking a transfusion, he still has a very slim chance of pulling through without one. But it will take weeks, months for him to fully recover if he doesn’t receive it. Ultimately, it’s up to you, Charity.”

Phillip liked to play it safe. None of the options seemed ‘safe.’ He had no place to insert an opinion, but in all honesty, he wasn’t sure enough of either choice to anyways. What would Barnum do, what would Barnum do...He looked over at the sleeping man in the bed, as if he’d provide an answer. In a way, he did, because Phillip was reminded of their conversation a couple years prior, when the other man wanted to tour with Jenny.

_“P. T., you’re risking everything you’ve built.”_

_“How do you think I built it?”_

Although his escapade with Miss Lind didn’t end well, it pulled them all together closer than ever. They were already trudging their way through the painful, emotional side of it. The only way to go from there was up. The fear of losing Phin due to a decision Phillip supported had his stomach tied up in knots, but it was the decision Barnum would make.

Phillip and Charity locked eyes. They both knew they were both set on the same choice.

“We’ll do the transfusion,” Charity said.

* * *

 

Anne’s fingers stroke up and down Phillip’s forearm in absent-minded comfort as he relayed everything Redman and Liza had told them. After the doctors had explained the blood loss situation, Phillip and Charity had been informed about the injuries sustained. By some miracle, the bullet to the chest missed major organs and arteries, but caused muscle damage that Barnum would have to receive physical therapy for in order to participate in strenuous activities again. Above the hip, however, the surgeons had a great deal of trouble locating the bullet. As it turned out, it had been shattered, lodged in different areas of the muscles. There was a high possibility of Barnum having nerve damage, hindering or altogether prohibiting the use of his left leg.

That, was unacceptable. Phin couldn’t be in a bed the rest of his life. He was too vibrant, too energetic and too in love with the position of Ringleader to sit it out. The jacket and the message it held meant too much to him to lose it.

He realized how strained his voice was and how exhausted he felt. It was close to one in the morning. An ache had been wearing at his body for a while now, but as he was finally sitting down next to Anne, his muscles sagged. Anne clasped her hand around Phillip’s. He couldn’t tell if it was for him or for her.

“Can’t imagine him not being out in the ring,” she murmured.

Lettie’s eyes were set on the tiles beneath her feet. She was leaning forward, arms folded across her knees. Something was going on inside her head. Perhaps she was reliving the moments when Barnum gave her the strength to feel like a warrior.

“He’ll pull through,” she stated, not a hint of doubt in her voice. “He’ll pull through.”

It’d taken some sweet-talking, but Phillip had managed to convince the staff to let them wait in the lobby for their ailing friend. The staff didn’t discriminate any of their patients, but the possibility of other patients or sponsors refusing to support them because of it wasn’t ideal.

Since Caroline and Helen had taken a liking to Constantine and Jeremy, the two had taken them back to the (humble  but decent) Barnum apartment. They’d stay with the girls until morning, when Charity promised they could visit. The rest of the group either went to their homes to rest and bathe or spread about the town, searching for any sort of answer as to who was involved with the shooting. O’Malley held promise, seeing as how being a former pickpocket had provided him with names on the street that were bound to help.

On the other side of the double doors, in the infirmary wing, Charity was allowing Liza to draw a pint of her blood. Soon, he’d have a needle in his own arm, giving a pint of his. They’d both have to donate some of their blood, since ten percent wouldn’t hardly affect their health. The sum wouldn’t quite equal what Barnum lost, but the difference was definitely much healthier than what he lacked now. Then it’d be up to P. T. to pull through.

His thoughts were interrupted by the door to Charity walking through the infirmary doors. She was guided by Liza, who had an arm out to help keep Charity steady.  Although she had a slightly pale hue, Charity appeared strong and determined as ever.

“Your turn, Phillip.”

* * *

 

Other than the quiet rhythm of Barnum’s shallow breathing next to Phillip, Anne, Charity, and Liza, the room was silent. Anne stood behind Phillip, who sat in a chair, while Liza crouched on the floor before him. Charity sat on the mattress next to her husband, holding his hand. Phillip didn’t fail to notice that her index and middle finger rested inconspicuously on the inside of Phin’s wrist, where she could easily keep track of his pulse.

The needle bit into the flesh of Phillip’s elbow, but Liza’s fingers were gentle. He studied her features, now that she was up close and holding the bag his blood dripped into. Shadows lined her eyes. There was a  worry crease between her eyebrows and the corners of her lips drooped into an unconscious frown. It was obvious that the stress of the night was getting to her.

“Are you alright?” The question was sincere, and he wanted a sincere answer.

“Mm-hmm,” came her distracted reply. Her eyes were fixed on the blood dripping into the bag.

“C’mon,” Phillip pressed gently to tell her that he really wanted to know, but careful enough so she knew she didn’t have to divulge her feelings if she was uncomfortable. “It’s been a rough night. And what’s the deal with Redman?”

At first, she didn’t answer, but then a soft smile curved at her lips. “There’s not many people who know about Bella’s double joints and flexibility. She learned at a young age that it freaked people out, and they tended to make fun of her about it. I’m one of the few honored people she trusted enough to show it to. I’ll always cherish that. But P. T., he allowed her to share it with the world. He made her comfortable enough to do that. I can’t verbally express the gratitude I feel for that.”

Phillip nodded thoughtfully, marveling at the miracle-worker that was Phineas Taylor Barnum. “When did this happen?”

“A few months ago. When the carriage accident happened.” She glanced over at the sleeping man, a humorless chuckle escaping her. “I guess I can always patch him up as a thank-you.”

Phillip first thought nothing of it. But then he remembered they were talking about P. T. and decided he wouldn’t put anything past the man. “What do you mean?”

Liza froze and inhaled sharply, as if realizing she wasn’t supposed to say that. She gulped and looked down. “Would you believe me if I said nothing?”

Phillip straightened his posture with a furrowed brow. Something had happened, and he’d missed it. Of course he wouldn’t let Liza off the hook now, and a pointed glare was all it took for her to receive the message.

“He had a few broken ribs,” she sighed, looking sheepish, “some of which were caused by riding the horse. They were injured in the crash but he knew neither you nor Anne were in any shape to ride for help. He made me swear not to tell.”

He accidentally jerked his arm in surprise, which jostled the needle around. He winced and hissed an obscenity underneath his breath, throwing an incredulous glare at Barnum. Of course _Phineas_ wouldn’t tell anybody.

Anne let out a shaky breath. Phillip could hear her swallow.

Charity was silent, he realized, so he craned his neck to look at her. “Did you know about this?”

Her face betrayed the emotion pricking at her eyes. Finally relenting, she nodded and gave a fond, protective look at her husband’s face. “He didn’t want to tell me, but we don’t keep secrets from each other. Not anymore. It wasn’t hard to tell something was wrong, anyways.”

‘Wasn’t hard to tell something was wrong.’ That proved how little he must’ve actually known the ringleader. He thought they were friends, best friends, even, yet he couldn’t infer that Barnum had multiple broken bones. What did he have to compare it to? A pulled muscle, somewhere around his knee. Riding a horse would have royally sucked, but it wouldn’t have resulted in a broken bone. Stupid, endearing, self-sacrificing idiot….

“As for Redman…” she continued. “He doesn’t like that I’m a doctor.”

“Because you’re a woman?” Anne asked bluntly. She could use that approach, because she’d also been on the receiving end of oppression as well.

She nodded. “Yes, because I’m a woman. My brother died from an illness when we were younger, so of course I wanted to study medicine to help prevent someone else from going through that pain like I did. The college wouldn’t accept females, but I’m lucky that I have a muscular figure. I chopped my hair off and passed for a boy.”

Phillip’s eyes widened in not just admiration, but respect. How far would he have gone for a personal goal like that? Anne, on the other hand, he could see the recognition and compassion in her eyes. She knew what it was like to be in Liza’s shoes.

“I was in class with Redman. I was top of the whole group. I was _better_ than him. Of course he didn’t like that, but when I was outed as a girl after we started working here together, that made it worse.”

Phillip noted the distant smile on her face, the faraway look in her eyes. She was reminiscing the victory of making him miserable. “I can’t get another job at another hospital, nobody will hire a female doctor. The only reason I’m still here is because I showed promise as a male. I’m just glad that they don’t know I’m a...” She seemed to have trouble saying the word. “A homosexual.”

The bag was now halfway full, and Phillip could already feel the beginning of nausea start to poke at his stomach. Anne must’ve noticed his discomfort, because she reached over to massage the knots in his shoulders. He let out a soft moan; she always knew which spots caused him the most physical stress.

They allowed the bag to fill in silence. By the time Phillip had donated an entire pint, he was lightheaded and nursing a glass of water. There was nothing else to do but wait as the doctors prepared both Charity and Phillip’s blood, so they exchanged forced pleasantries and attempts to lighten the mood, only to relapse in painful silence.

Phillip’s heart was fluttering anxiously in wait for the doctor to return, ready to attempt the blood transfusion. He cautiously watched Phin’s chest slowly rise and fall, as if it would stop at any moment. The ringleader gave no signs of waking anytime soon. He thought he was one hundred percent ready for the transfusion to start—anything to _fix_ Barnum, please just _fix_ him already—yet when both Redman and Liza’s footsteps sounded across the wing, Phillip’s stomach plummeted. Any whispers and murmurs within their circle ceased.

“We don’t have Phillip’s ready, yet, but—” Liza began, then Redman cut her off.

“I have Charity’s blood prepared to be given to Mr. Barnum.” He paid no attention to the woman beside him or the icy glare thrown his way as he hooked the bag up to the infusion pole next to the bed. He disinfected a spot in P. T.’s arm, inserted a needle, and connected a tube from the bag to said needle.

The blood slowly snaked into Barnum’s arm.

Everyone stopped breathing.

After several minutes of tension-filled silence, Phillip’s heart rate began to return to normal.

Liza let out a sigh. “I think it’s safe to say he’s taking the blood well.”

Years drained from his face as a the group took a collective, deep breath. Things were looking okay.

Anne pressed her lips to Phillip’s hand. The smile could be felt through the kiss.

Charity actually smiled a real, genuine smile for the first time that night, even though it was technically morning. The whole ordeal felt like it had spanned over a week, yet at the same time felt like a blur. She was now laying on her side next to Phineas, running fingers through soft curls. Before too long, her eyes had closed and breathing had evened out. Her chest rose and fell in sync with Barnum’s.

Phillip somehow managed to fall asleep an hour after the transfusion began. His dreams depicted Phineas bed-ridden without the use of his leg, and of course as Phillip sobbed a thousand apologies for something that was not even his fault, Barnum repeatedly explained and assured Phillip that he was in no place to apologize. He was the one to comfort Phillip, instead of the other way around. And that made the younger man feel even worse.

Anne shook Phillip out of his sleep, prompting a groan and a feeble attempt to swat her away with his hand, only for her to give a real slap to his arm.

“He’s awake, Phil.”

Phillip snapped awake as if he’d never been asleep in the first place. He was greeted by the sight of Charity’s face inches from Barnum’s, her expression one of love and joy. They mumbled quietly to one another, but Phillip could tell Barnum was putting all of his effort into forming coherent words, even loud enough for just Charity to hear. He could barely make out the weak smile pulling at his lips.

It was all he could do to restrain himself from lunging to P. T.’s side. Heavy tears threatened to fall out of sheer relief, the weight of not knowing if he’d even wake up again was finally freed off his shoulders. He could _breathe_.

Liza stepped forward as to announce her presence, and allowed the two to finish their brief conversation before offering a smile to Barnum. “I’m glad to see you’re awake, P. T. A lot of people are. Tell me how you’re feeling.”

Phillip didn’t fail to notice the look of pain that crossed P. T.’s face, which he tried to hide with a subtle shift in his position.

“Sore,” he admitted, his voice raspy. “Tired.”

“That’s understandable,” Liza nodded as Charity squeezed her husband’s hand. “Can you tell me if you’re feeling any fever-like symptoms?”

He shook his head slowly. “Don’t...think so.” To be sure, Charity placed her hand across his forehead. When she shook her head in agreement, Liza continued.

“Great! I’m gonna say we have fifteen minutes before the bag’s empty and we’ll move onto Phillip’s, alright?”

The confusion on his face betrayed Phin’s trouble at processing everything. It was obvious that he was exhausted, both physically and mentally.

Charity nodded her head towards Phillip. “You should come talk to him. I know you want to.”

The offer was too irresistible to insist she continue to stay with her husband, more intimately, so with one supportive twitch of the lips from Anne, he moved his chair to P. T.’s other side.

“Hey,” he began with a smile that felt too forced.

“Hey…” Up close, the lines on Barnum’s face stood out. He was pale. Even his cracked lips, chafing against each other seemed discolored. Those hazel eyes had never looked so lifeless. It was a frightening image. “You should be at home...with Anne….Not here.”

Phillip furrowed his brow defensively. “You think I don’t want to be here? You think Anne doesn’t want to be here?”

Barnum averted his eyes. “Shouldn’t...be here.”

Everything went to hell when the double doors opened. A group of loud footsteps thudded in their direction. They were too quick and heavy, aggressive, for one of the doctors; that was what immediately drew Phillip’s attention. The source of the commotion came from the four men in worn, old clothing, quickly gaining on their position. The chair Phillip had been sitting in was sent skidding back as he abruptly pushed himself up. Out of the corner of his eye, he realized that Charity and Lettie had done the same.

“State your business here,” Charity demanded harshly, as if to give them a chance to back down, and it made even Phillip flinch. “Or leave, now.”

Three of them looked oddly familiar. Phillip must’ve seen them on the streets before. It set him on edge that much more. He became more aware of Barnum’s sleeping figure next to him, so he inched closer to the foot of the bed. That way, he was serving more as a shield.

The man in the front, with thinning brown hair and a crooked nose, pointed a shaking finger in their general direction. “We have a score to settle.”

“Get out,” Phillip snapped. He was angry, protective, but he was petrified of how this could turn out. “Right now, leave. This doesn’t have to go any further.”

The tension thickened. Anne should be in the waiting room, with the others. They were safe. They had to be. Phillip wondered how the protestors might’ve gotten past the group, but they were probably all asleep. The stress of the situation was exhausting.

Another thug, this one stocky and tall, narrowed his eyes. “You’re right, this has been going on for far too long. Let’s finish what he started.”

It happened all at once, but Phillip, Charity, and Lettie moved as one as they locked their feet against the ground. They weren’t going to move for the world. Silence stretched on for a moment, an unspoken warning conveyed through their body language. _Don’t come any farther._ Then, their timing couldn’t be more perfect, Anne backed by the rest of the circus performers in the lobby strode through the doors.

“Everything okay?” She asked, needing only a _look_ from Phillip to jump in.

Phillip’s dark eyes flickered to and from each protester’s face. “Yeah. They were just leaving.”

A shallow gasp from behind jerked his attention away. Barnum was still asleep, but his features were tightened into a fitful expression. The strained pulls of oxygen finally told Phillip: he can’t breathe.

Panic immediately encased Phillip’s mind, tunneling his vision, and forgetting about the protesters. That was a mistake, seeing as how all it took was one rough grab to send him flying back away from Barnum. Away from his friend. His friend was dying.

“Liza, get Liza!” he shouted when he collided into Anne’s arms. She said they had equipment for this type of reaction to the blood. It had to be his blood that was causing this.

The Albino twins didn’t hesitate to take off towards the other end of the wing. One of the thugs, Phillip’s height with a scraggly beard, looked like he wanted to chase after her, but decided against it. The first one, who’d thrown Phillip back, was standing uncomfortably close to P. T.

Realization hit Phillip like a train. “You’re the thugs that chased him down a few months ago.” A sinking put formed in his stomach.

“Is stalking my family, beating my husband, and traumatizing my children not enough for you?” Charity seethed, volume increasing.

The second one’s face contorted in rage. “He knocked my brother’s brain waves loose! He’s a retard, now! His face still hasn’t healed, it’s all scarred up.”

Phillip could practically feel the unease in the troupe behind him. They hadn’t told anybody about what happened that day, even Lettie. The look she sent him made him feel like a traitor.

Liza came running into view with Florence and Mary behind her. She had to have regularly participated in athletic activities for her to not appear winded at all.

“What’s the status?” She asked, ignoring the protesters flanking their group. She surged forward to Barnum’s side, but was caught in the arms of the tall one. He flung her back, skidding on her side.

“Liza, he can’t breathe,” Charity answered, shouting. She was fighting in the embrace of the stocky thug.

“You sure are feisty,” he huffed.

She kicked her heel back into his shin and ducked her chin, dropping out of his arms. She lunged to P. T.

“Phin,” she took his face in her hands urgently. His lips were turning blue. Small, choking sounds came from his throat. “Why isn’t he breathing? Liza, what do I do?”

The first one with a crooked nose, the man next to P. T., yanked the pillow out from underneath his head.

“You’d think after two warnings, he would stop. Guess not.”

Phillip’s heart sunk even further into his stomach. “Twice? What happened the other time?”

Chuckles and smirks were exchanged between the thugs. It was unnerving. It implied something had gone down that they didn’t know about, Barnum had been on the receiving end, and it went well for them. Part of him didn’t want to know what exactly happened. But he knew that he should.

In the next second, several things happened at once. The crooked-nose one with the pillow shoved Charity back. Then he forced the pillow over Barnum’s face. Liza dove for the bag she had carried in and pulled a syringe out. And then the whole group, Phillip included, surged forward.

As for himself, Phillip aimed for the man suffocating P. T. with the pillow. His fists met the assailant’s face over and over again, fast and hard, until the man was shook out of his shock and wrestled him to the floor. At least Barnum wasn’t being suffocated anymore. The only thing was that he was no longer in control. The other man’s hands were around his neck, squeezing, pushing, blocking his airway. Phillip tried throwing his fists at his face, but he only dodged them. Black was starting to seep at the corner of his vision. He switched to pounding at the thug’s ribs. It didn’t matter. He was too weak by now.

A loud _POP_ echoed through the room. With a scream from the thug on top of him, the pressure was released from Phillip’s throat. He coughed hoarsely, gasping deep lungfuls of air. The scene started to come back into vision. The first person he saw was Barnum. He was propping himself up with his bad arm, holding his other shaking hand, clutching a revolver, out towards the man he’d just shot. He was panting as well—although he appeared to be more alert than he’d ever been that night, the exhaustion was evident in his face. An empty syringe hung from the crook of his elbow.

Phillip realized what had happened. Liza had given P. T. the medicine, whatever it was, and it had apparently worked like a miracle.

The gun clattered from Barnum’s hand as pain crossed his face. He fell back against the mattress with a groan, clutching his shoulder.

Phillip kicked the pistol underneath the bed. “What,” he wheezed, “was in that syringe?”

Liza was breathing heavily, still registering what had just happened. “It was a mixture of epinephrine and adrenaline. The adrenaline should be wearing off in a little bit.”

Bella parted from a portion of the group and crashed her lips against Liza’s. They didn’t care who saw, even the protesters, they just held each other and _loved_. It was beautiful to finally see that their people were starting to embrace themselves.

Phillip looked back at the injured thug. He was on the ground; clutching the very top of his thigh. “You shot him,” he breathed.

Although Barnum was taking slow, deep breaths to ride out the pain, a sheepish smirk managed to grace his face. “I was aiming...for his head...believe it or not.”

The gravity of the statement was lost on Phillip. He gave a small, exhausted laugh.

Several growls and obscenities reminded him of the other protestors. They’d each been pinned to the ground by several performers.

“Can I have,” Barnum piped up with a soft groan, “a lot of morphine or something?”

* * *

 

The rest of the day passed without excitement after the police had taken the four thugs away. As it turned out, the thug who started suffocating Barnum had a gun stuffed in the waistband of his pants the whole time. The fact that he hadn't used it and chose to smother a defenseless, weakened man still angered Phillip to no end. But in the end, he was glad he brought the revolver, because that's what saved his life. With the help of good medicine, P. T. had slept most of the day off. Charity had gone home to spend the night with Caroline and Helen and would return with them in the morning. The circus had left and returned to the grounds just an hour ago with Anne, who Phillip had coaxed into taking time to shower, eat, and rest.

That left Phillip, sitting in the chair with his feet propped up on the bed next to Barnum’s arm. He’d found a clock and set it up on the wall. It read 9:37. Twenty four hours since the attack. The muscles in his neck ached, the flesh was dark with bruises, but he refused to leave, especially after the events early that morning.

“We need to talk, P. T.” His voice was strained, scratchy.

“Uh-oh,” he popped an eye open. “That’s never good, coming from you or Charity. Or Lettie. Or anyone, really. Just don’t ask anything too personal, the morphine’s very honest.”

Normally, Phillip would’ve laughed. At least cracked a smile. But the words of the protestors, their chuckles and cocky glances kept rebounding in his head. “Those guys talked about how they’ve warned you twice…What was the other time?”

The other man sighed. Then he pointed at the lonely cup of water on the bedside table. “Drink.”

Sensing he wouldn’t go any further without Phillip obeying his instruction, he took a few mouthfuls of the cool liquid. It was heaven against the sore area.

“I told you not to ask anything personal.”

“It’s not personal, Phin,” he placed the cup back on the table, slightly disappointed it was already empty. “This crosses the line.”

Barnum huffed and shook his head. “It happened at the end of the year,” he gave in. “It was a mild confrontation, no big deal.”

Phillip flashed back to several months ago, the night when P. T. had gone out to deal with a few protestors. It had lasted only a few minutes, and now that he thought about it, Barnum had been unusually quiet the rest of that night, and may have even limped. The bastard, he didn’t tell them…

“P. T.,” Phillip muttered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He didn’t answer, just stared at the blanket encasing his body. “I don’t know, I just...don’t like feeling like an inconvenience.”

Phillip’s eyes narrowed. He took his feet down and leaned forward. “How can you say that? You’re one of our own, Phin. What would you say if Anne had hid something like that from you?”

The thought of Anne, bruised and bloodied and abused made his stomach churn. It obviously had the same effect on Barnum, judging by the dark look that passed over his face.

“Or Lettie, or any of the rest of us? I figure you’d be pretty damn angry, am I wrong?” Phillip didn’t give him a chance to answer. “Don’t you think for one second, that we don’t love you as much as you love us.”

The rant ended as quickly as it had begun. It left the ringleader speechless and teary-eyed. He finally managed a chuckle.

“What?” Phillip asked.

“Just…” he smiled. “Something I didn’t know I needed. Thanks, Phil.” Then he snuggled into his blankets, and let his eyes drift close.

Phillip kicked his legs back up, looking at Barnum’s peaceful face one last time before letting his own eyes close. “Anytime, old man.”

“...Don’t call me old.”

 

_Six months later_

Days, weeks, months had passed uneventfully. It had taken a while for Barnum’s body to replace the blood he’d lost. Since the blood that Phillip had donated was reacted to violently, they’d cut off the supply as soon as possible. It was agreed that they wouldn’t risk another episode like that, and there wasn’t as much of a difference in the amount of blood, so it was decided that they’d let Barnum’s body replenish it on its own.

As for the muscle and nerve damage, that was another matter. Once out of the hospital, he’d participated in months of physical therapy, and would have to continue for quite some time. His leg was healing slowly, slow enough to ensure he wouldn’t be able to perform for at least another six months. However, his shoulder had healed nicely and was doing alright. He occasionally had problems with his chest, and was under strict orders from Charity (and everyone else) to keep from doing any physically strenuous activities. Otherwise, there weren’t any problems with it.

He’d have scars. That was alright, though, he had a few here and there anyways. Everyone does. But every time he removed his shirt for a change or a bath, he was reminded of the crippling vulnerability he experienced. Every time he and Charity had been physically intimate, the scarred flesh sent her back to the terror she’d been exposed to, and reminded her of how his back had arched against the ground, how his screams had filled the air. The difficulties he had with his leg were no help. Every limp, every flash of pain kept him humbled.

His family had been there every step of the way. Phillip helped him exercise and brought both of their work to his bedroom on the days too hard to travel into town. Anne and Lettie both kept him in check, making sure he wasn’t pushing himself or in pain. Whenever one or the other would catch him, he’d get a stern but gentle rebuke and orders to sit and rest in his office. He suspected even W. D. was in on it. Every once in a while, he’d notice him watching intently, like a spy for the girls.

And Charity, oh, Charity was a godsend. Whether it was picking up his chores, rubbing his shoulders, or bringing food and water up to the bedroom when he was bedridden, he couldn’t express the gratitude he felt towards her. Never once had she complained or grumbled, always smiling, always eager to help him as he fought down the path to recovery.

Caroline and Helen were one of the reasons he got out of bed many days. They knew he was at a disadvantage, and therefore restrained themselves from jumping on him like usual. But they didn’t refrain from joking and playing around with him, making sure he always had a big smile splitting across his face.

His birthday had passed over the months. Of course he’d never mentioned it, but either Charity or Caroline and Helen had snitched to the circus group. At the end of the day, they’d surprised him with a celebratory dinner. They sang perfect harmonies that warmed his soul, and at the end of that, they presented him with a brand-new ringleader jacket. Words had failed him, tears threatened to spill from his eyes, and for a moment they worried that they’d done something wrong, that the subject may have still been touchy. That couldn’t have been further from the truth. The color was exactly the same as his previous one. The gold laced down the middle of the black vest was obviously done professionally, without a fault. It was even more beautiful than the first one.

When he finally smiled a big, ecstatic smile, so did the rest of the troupe. He asked who they’d gone to to have it done, but Lettie had raised her hand shyly. As it turned out, she’d been working on it night after night for months, never settling until it was perfect. Anne helped pick out and acquire the material; she had a keen eye for colors. Everyone else had picked up odd jobs around town, doing everything that no one else wanted to for far too little money in exchange to pay for the materials.

It was things like this that reaffirmed everything Phillip said in the infirmary wing six months ago. He’d always known, to an extent, that they cared for him, but he’d never known they would completely devote themselves to his healing and safety. There wasn’t ever a nasty word spoken behind his back. They made sure he knew that he was still appreciated. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t practice with them, or help with chores around the house or at the circus, they respected him as their Ringleader.

The day came when he was finally able to perform a show with them. It left him sore and winded and hurting, but it was one of the best performances they’d had as a family. It also resulted in one of the loudest, most joyful reactions from the audience, as it was the first time they’d seen P. T. Barnum back in action in close to a year. The jacket he donned was more special that time.

After that, protests were scarce. Negativity was left to the upper class snobs and journalists biting for any hint of a juicy review, but even that was few and far in between.

He’d taken a lot of hits for the team. They made sure he didn’t have to anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okie dokie, this is the end, folks. I've inserted just a few sentences clearing up the detail about Phin shooting the thug attacking Phillip. In my head, I knew that it was in the thug's pants, but I guess I forgot to actually write that part out. Whoops. See how professional I am??
> 
> Thank you all so much for sticking with me and being patient through this whole process. All of your kind words and long, thought-out messages have encouraged me to no end and I really can't verbally express my gratitude for that. There will be more whump/angst fics to come, so if that interests you, stay posted! I already have one started, called "When the Walls Won't Hold."
> 
> So, once again, thank you. And with that, goodbye! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Okay this one is really short guys I'm sorry
> 
> I wrote this at one in the morning while I was sick
> 
> More to come! Love you guys!
> 
> Also if you wanna look for me on tumblr my URL is crown-of-the-circus-king


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